


Sleep on the Floor, Dream About Me

by cosmisce



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Character Study, Coming of Age, Gen, Minor Azumane Asahi/Nishinoya Yuu, Team as Family
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-18
Updated: 2020-09-18
Packaged: 2021-03-07 17:46:55
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,606
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26521633
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cosmisce/pseuds/cosmisce
Summary: For the first time, Nishinoya feels incredibly distant from his underclassmen. As if they are eternal, anchored in time—and he’s here, receding from their vision. Saying goodbye, but only he is aware of it.Moments from Nishinoya's seventeenth year.
Comments: 7
Kudos: 20





	Sleep on the Floor, Dream About Me

**Author's Note:**

> “If I am saying goodbye to everything, everything is also saying goodbye to me.” 
> 
> — T. R. Hummer, from “Emissary: Five Eternities in September.”

**#2**

The sky is dark by the time the team returns to their room, uniforms clinging to their body as they trudge, trembling, up the tottering stairs of the inn. The second years lose the game of _jan-ken-pon_ for use of the hot springs and are forced to sit in their sweat, silent and still as they channel their remaining energy into keeping their eyes open.

“I can’t believe we need to play Nekoma in the morning,” Tanaka complains, head resting on the floor where he’s splayed out on his stomach next to Nishinoya. “I seriously thought I was going to pass out in the middle of our match today.” Nishinoya grunts in response, the adrenaline from his bout against Miya Atsumu lingering in his bones. It’s the second day of Nationals, but he’s still not used to this place: the high-ceilings of the gyms, the resistance of the floor against his knees, the string of victories—victories that he can’t help but hunger for, demanding them despite the knowledge that their good fortune has to run out sometime. 

He closes his eyes, banishing the thought from his mind. 

“It’s weird that the third years are leaving soon,” Ennoshita says, approaching their prone, outstretched forms. Nishinoya groans in protest, curling into herself.

“No, don’t say that,” Nishinoya says. “The Spring Interhigh isn’t over. There’s still plenty of time.” He feels a slight sense of unease when he considers Daichi, Suga, and Asahi graduating. Besides him, Daichi is the only one competent at defense; and Suga and Asahi, though not as lauded as their first-year counterparts, would be impossible to replace in their support for the team on and off the court. No matter what members replace them, the change would still be a loss.

“True, but the tournament has to end sometime,” Ennoshita says. He crouches next to them, prodding Nishinoya in the forehead. “And it’s time we start acknowledging that the second years can’t stay the same.” This prompts Nishinoya to open his eyes, sitting up despite the protest of his muscles.

“What do you mean, can't stay the same?” Nishinoya demands. Tanaka has also risen into a sitting position, staring at Ennoshita. “Is this about the time Daichi pulled you out on the balcony this morning for a super secret captain-to-captain meeting? Because—”

“Yes it is, in fact,” Ennoshita says, his words cutting through Nishinoya’s accusation. “Both of you participate in the first years’ antics, and for the moment that’s alright, but from next year, I need you to start getting serious. We can’t afford to be playing around.”

“Who says we’re playing around?” Tanaka eyes him. “Noya and I are just as intense about the sport as anyone on the team.” Ennoshita sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose. 

“I’m not disputing that,” Ennoshita replies. “But the first years are a mess, and Daichi and Suga are the only ones who can keep them in line. If both of you are any measure to go by, I suspect they’ll persist in their immaturity into next year, and I—I can’t do this by myself.” The weight he puts on those last words cause Nishinoya’s stomach to turn, settling at the bottom as a strange, onerous tar. 

From the hall, Nishinoya can hear the familiar ramblings of the first years: Kageyama and Tsukishima exchanging clipped insults while Hinata and Yamaguchi converse about their upcoming match. A familiar urge rises in his chest: he wants to dig his fingers into Hinata’s hair; he wants to slap Tsukishima on the shoulder for his outstanding performance today. And while he usually would jump to his feet, rushing to put his plan into motion, this time he stops himself.

For the first time, he feels incredibly distant from his underclassmen. As if they are eternal, anchored in time—and he’s here, receding from their vision. Saying goodbye, but only he is aware of it.

Ennoshita puts a hand on his shoulder. For a moment, they exchange a glance. The unspeakable passes between them. 

“Like it or not, you’re growing up,” Ennoshita says. His almond-colored eyes, whose peacefulness usually set Nishinoya at ease, seem resigned in the room’s light. He straightens from his crouch, heading to the closet. “Come on. It’s our turn to bathe.”

**#3**

The sun lights up Nishinoya’s frame, washing him in its hold and heat. 

Nishinoya has gone on runs at the nearby shrine since middle school. He is an early riser by disposition, and the mornings before school—pale and cold, and entirely his—are perfect for exercise, affording him a couple hours of peace before the usual chaos of practice (generated mostly by him, but the point still stands).

Nishinoya prefers this version of himself to the version that he presents to the world: loud and shameless and too large for his body. Here he melts into the world, and the world melts into him.

Nationals ended a couple months ago. There has been much to fill the vacuum— practice matches in Nerima, more time at Tanaka’s, and a multitude of birthdays—but still, the team has seemed to settle into an uneasy sort of decadence. Their team’s limbs stiffen from non-use, the old blood turning stale in the absence of a clear goal to aim for.

At all times, there is the persistent feeling that things are about to change; that they are running on old gas and are sputtering out. 

Nishinoya enters the courtyard, facing the main shrine building. He approaches it, breathing hard as he peels off his shirt and slings it on his shoulder. Before the steps is a prayer plaque, where prayer cards are tied by red ribbon against wooden boards. Normally, Nishinoya only indulges in such pursuits on New Year’s Day. But he finds himself reaching for a prayer card, uncapping a sharpie as he considers what he should write.

_I wish for bad-ass, adorable first years..._ Nishinoya says to himself... _First years that call me senpai and tell me I’m the coolest..._

_I wish for Asahi to stay in Miyagi..._

__

__

_I wish for the soda popsicles to be selling at the convenience store this evening..._

__

__

_I wish for..._ Nishinoya grits his teeth. _I wish for..._

He hurls the prayer card onto the ground. Empty. He storms out of the courtyard, trying not to acknowledge to himself the mess he has made.

The jog to his house is usually manageable for him, but today his legs tremble so much by the end of it that he’s forced to call Saeko for a ride to school. Even in the car, the world looks strange today: passing him by, a melange of trees and street lamps and wisps of clouds.

As he steps out in front of the school, Nishinoya remembers the prayer card he discarded on the ground. He wishes there was a prayer for this: this absence of want, these hungerless days. 

**#4**

“You alright there, Nishinoya?” Asahi turns to him from the driver’s seat of the car, eyes studying him before they return to the road.

“Yeah, just fine,” Nishinoya replies, though the words come out slurred. While he has been feeling sluggish since the afternoon, it was only after the third years’ graduation dinner that someone noticed he was burning up—not him, of course, but Daichi, who observed that he was acting quieter than usual. 

While he’d tried to object, it had probably not helped his case that he nearly passed out while heading to the restroom immediately thereafter. 

So, here he is: curled up in Asahi’s car, watching the moon chase them as they return to Nishinoya’s house. He has had to continually supply Asahi directions. No one besides Tanaka has been to his house for more than a couple minutes, and even while near his best friend Nishinoya has the urge to escape the place as soon as possible.

Since high school, Nishinoya has occupied the house by himself while his grandfather left to explore the world. He only returns for summer and New Year’s, and even then the house seems too big for comfort.

Nishinoya shudders, pulling the comforter farther up on his body. The chills are already starting to set in.

There are many things he is trying not to remember: that Asahi is probably going to head home after dropping him at his house, leaving him alone for a couple hours before Tanaka stops by to drop off some medicine; that he’s a third year; that he’s starting to get delusional, though he’s trying not to, though he can’t help but lose control.

Suddenly, the car stops. Nishinoya hears Asahi mumble some words to him—words that he can’t understand, though he tries—and he sits up as Asahi exits the car, the door slamming shut behind him. 

Patiently, he waits for Asahi to return. When all of thirty seconds pass, he groans and sits up. His head starts to pound.

“You alright, Asahi?” he calls out. Straining to concentrate on Asahi’s words as he leans against his car, he hears: “I don’t know...oh. This isn’t good.” Thoughts start multiplying in Nishinoya’s brain: _a car bomb planted by the Yakuza? No...that can’t be it. It must be just as I feared..._

_Asahi is an alien._

“Whatever it is, I can take it,” Nishinoya says, steeling himself for the moment when Asahi inevitably peels off his human face to reveal a green, slimy one underneath. “There’s nothing to be afraid of.” Alien Asahi is the same as human Asahi, after all...timid, sweet. Superhero. 

“It’s just as I suspected,” Asahi said. Nishinoya doesn’t miss the sinister glint in his eye. _So that’s it..._ Nishinoya gulps, balling his hands into fists. _He brought me out here to murder me._ He looks at the trees around them, the badly paved road that is far from civilization. _My fever, the weird-tasting popsicle he bought for me yesterday...it’s all coming together._ He stiffens as Asahi looks at him through the window, tapping on it.

Hesitantly, Nishinoya opens it. He readies himself, clenching his stomach. _Don’t worry. He might be big, but I can take him._ But Asahi doesn’t reach into the car, his hands seizing his throat; he doesn’t pull out a gun and start shooting mercilessly; he sighs, rubbing his face.

“I’m sorry, Nishinoya. We’re out of gas,” Asahi says. The words surprise him, jostling him into a premature sobriety. 

“Oh,” he says, then looks around him. _Oh._ “Where are we?” 

Asahi laughs. “Well, I’m honestly not really sure. You said to go right, then straight for three blocks, then right again, then left, then straight for another block, then right...” Nishinoya traces the route in his mind. His house isn’t so far from Asahi’s to warrant so many turns.

“Shit. I’m pretty sure I gave you the wrong directions, Asahi,” Nishinoya says. “Sorry.” 

“It’s not a big deal. I’m just going to call Daichi for a second. He can get his car and pick us up,” Asahi says, before a small, bashful smile emerges on his face. “And maybe lend me some gas.” He retreats from Nishinoya’s vision, venturing deeper into the forest. Nishinoya finds himself too tired to accompany him.

Looking out of the smudged sunroof of Asahi’s car, Nishinoya can’t help but feel as if he’s been here before. Not here in Asahi’s car, but here in this state of mind...this old ache, this fear he’s been outrunning all this time.

_Stuck._

“Hey, Nishinoya?” Asahi says, returning to the car. “How are you feeling, bud? Daichi says he’s heading over, and said to tell you not to worry. So...” Asahi gestures meaninglessly with his hands. “Don’t worry.” Nishinoya wants to be difficult, say that _Asahi, I never worry, come on you’ve known me for two years we’ve been over this..._ but he finds solace in the words, so he stays quiet.

Out here, Nishinoya muses, they’re all alone. It’s the first time this has happened, and probably the last. Looking at Asahi, he doesn’t miss the clouded, dreamy expression in his eyes as he stares up at the stars. 

Something can happen here, Nishinoya realizes. He puts his hand on the door handle, fingers tightening on it. He wonders if Asahi can feel it too.

“Asahi,” Nishinoya says, his voice thick. Asahi turns to him, startled out of his thoughts. 

“Hm?” he asks. “What’s up, Nishinoya?” He looks strangely ethereal in the moonlight, simple and safe. 

In the end, Nishinoya cant’ bring himself to say the words. 

Before Daichi comes, they play Ghost and eat some of the organic granola bars that Asahi stores in the trunk (and which Nishinoya tries not to vomit up after his first bite). When the headlights finally appear—illuminating them to an exasperated Daichi who thought he had officially graduated from rectifying their messes—the opportunity is already lost to them. 

“Where on earth are we?” Daichi demands, looking in awe at the forest around him. “Well, Nishinoya. I know you’re delirious, but you’ve really done it this time.”

“I know. I’ve already said sorry so many times,” Nishinoya says, though he conceals the fact that all of these had been mentally and not verbally delivered to Asahi. Daichi tightens his lips, restraining himself from continuing the lecture.

“Well, can you navigate us home from here? If not, it’s best just to return to Asahi’s place and figure it out from there,” Daichi says, putting his hands on his hips. 

“Honestly, not really. Drive me to Asahi’s and then I can navigate us to Ryuu’s. Saeko will let me stay the night.” Daichi nods, and Nishinoya opens the car door to totter into Daichi’s car. There is a silent exchange of gas and an obligatory reprimand before they depart, and then Daichi is stepping on the gas to return them to civilization.

The sudden lurch of the car surprises him. Nishinoya’s stomach flips, and he has the feeling again. _Motion sickness,_ it’s called: the feeling of moving but not really going anywhere. 

“Daichi,” Nishinoya asks, the word coming out breathy. “Do you have a bag?” Daichi turns around.

“Hm?” he says, before noticing the greenish sheen of Nishinoya’s face. “Oh, shit. Alright, uh, in the cubby to your left—”

But it’s too late. The damage is already done.

**#5**

Instead of setting to Tanaka as he usually spends Wednesdays after practice, Nishinoya finds himself in the vicinity of the first-year libero, Nakamura Haruto. 

“You should be crouching before the serve,” Nishinoya says, assuming the positon himself. “See?” Nakamura grimaces.

“But isn’t that exhausting?” Nakamura muses. Nishinoya shrugs.

“Yeah, I guess, but it means you’ll be faster when you’re diving for the ball,” Nishinoya continues. “Oh, and Haru. I noticed you’re not diving for the ball. Of course it’s best if you’re receiving it cleanly, but if you can’t that’s what your knee and elbow pads are for, right?” Nakamura winces, nodding again.

“Yeah, I guess...” Nakamura says. Nishinoya straightens, putting his hands on his knees.

“What’s up?” he demands. The first-year libero needs a lot of encouragement, reminding him of a certain Karasuno graduate that he hasn’t seen in a while. Nakamura seems reluctant to spit it out.

“I guess I’m afraid of looking stupid,” Nakamura admits. “I mean, what if I miss the ball?” 

Nishinoya sighs. “You’re not gonna get them all,” he says. “Believe me, I’ve tried. Being a libero is just a lot of flopping around the ground, really. But when you get that save...” He grins as Nakamura’s eyes light up. 

“You’re right, Nishinoya!” he says. Pride swells in Nishinoya’s chest, but before he can respond, he sees Tanaka out of the corner of his eye beckoning to him from the other side of the gym, gesticulating at his watch. 

“Let’s meet up during lunch, Haru,” he says, reaching over to tousle his hair. “See ya!” Bounding off, he meets Tanaka and the rest of the third years, who are already meandering toward the door. Nishinoya retrieves his water bottle, itching to get out of his soiled gym clothes. 

The rest of the team besides Nakamura, Hinata, and Kageyama, has already left. The club room is quiet as they undress. 

“He respects you a lot,” Kinoshita says, tying up his shoes on the floor next to him. “Nakamura, I mean.” Nishinoya zips up his red messenger bag, looking at him strangely. 

“I guess. I mean, I do need to mentor him and all,” Nishinoya says, adding, under his breath, “for when we graduate.” 

“What I mean is that he looks up to you.” Kinoshita says. “All of us do.” Nishinoya holds his breath, waiting for the catch. But Kinoshita stays silent; there is no _except_ or _even_ ; and Nishinoya can’t stop the smile that spreads across his face.

“Yeah?” he says. Kinoshita looks at him curiously. The feeling welling up in his stomach is foreign, unnameable. It warms up a part of him that he didn’t realize still existed.

“I’ll meet you outside,” Nishinoya says, rushing outside of the gym before turning to yell: “RYUU! HURRY UP YOU BIG OAF, I’M HUNGRY!” He steps out into the humid June air, exhaling, 

There are worse things to be than flustered, Nishinoya realizes. He’s surprised to find that the warm feeling hasn’t faded yet, as if it is here to stay. 

**#6**

“Fucked again,” Nishinoya says, while he and Tanaka are returning to his house for a warm dinner of curry and rice. 

Karasuno loses in the Fall Interhigh Finals against Date Tech. It’s a great match—Nishinoya does much more diving than he’s used to, his legs trembling hard at the end of it—but it ends when Aone blocks Tanaka’s spike, and the ball clatters to the floor before Nishinoya can get to it in time.

It’s hard to say what would’ve happened if he’d made it. Probably, much of the same. 

“Don’t be too hard on yourself,” Tanaka says, though his voice is strangely subdued. Nishinoya wonders if he’s remembering their first match against them just as he is, and is waiting for him to pounce. 

But Nishinoya won’t do it again; he promised he wouldn’t after Asahi returned. He used to believe that everyone else around him was changing while he stayed the same, but only recently has he realized that he has been changing, too, whether consciously or not. 

“We’ll get them back in the the Spring,” Nishinoya says. He doesn’t need to ask Tanaka if he’ll remain on the team. Tanaka nods in agreement but the strange glint of his eyes hasn’t receded.

Nishinoya forces himself to remember comforting the team, offering words of encouragement when he felt as if he was falling apart. He remembers embracing a crying Hinata and Yamaguchi, speaking in a pitched, animated voice to ease the tension that had settled onto them all. But here, beside his best friend, he doesn’t need to pretend. 

They turn the corner. Nishinoya eases when he sees Tanaka’s house in the middle of the street, Saeko’s car settled in the open garage. He’s home. He’s about to race forward before he notices that Tanaka has stopped, biting his lip in thought. 

“What is it?” Nishinoya asks, stopping too. 

“You’re gonna be eighteen soon,” Tanaka says. Nishinoya is about to object before he realizes his friend is right: it’s only a couple months off. He’s spent so much time in the moment that he forgets sometimes that he has a future; a future, he realizes, that is going to increasingly happen outside the structure of high school. 

Reflecting on it, he realizes that he has enjoyed being seventeen. It’s his last year before adulthood. He wonders if he has made it special at all, or simply wasted it pursuing the same-old. 

In a single moment the realization hits him in the chest, forcing the breath out of him: _he’ll never be a child again._

When Nishinoya doesn’t respond to him, Tanaka clears his throat. Nishinoya sees him staring somewhere past him.

“You know, we spend so much time waiting for the best days of our lives,” Tanaka says. “But I think they’re here.”

**#1**

It is Nishinoya’s seventeenth birthday.

He and the second years are clustered around Tanaka’s coffee table, sharing stories while playing Super Smash Bros. Nishinoya delivers a punch to Tanaka’s Bowser as Little Mac, laughing out loud as he stumbles off the cliff. The bottom of the screen erupts in blue light.

“Eat shit, Ryuu!” Nishinoya says, punching the buttons on his controller as he jumps up to an idling Luigi. “You’re next, Kazuhito.” 

“Alright, pause the game!” Saeko calls out. The room falls into darkness as she comes into the room, bearing plates and a birthday cake donning seventeen lit candles. Everyone, besides him, starts to sing.

“Wha—” Nishinoya says, after they’d finished and successfully counted him off to seventeen. “Saeko, you really didn’t need to do this.” He can barely speak around the smile on his face, which he tries and fails to keep at bay.

“Of course I had to, you idiot,” she says, pulling him into a hug. “You’re family.” Family...the words feels foreign, but certainty fits the people around him. The Spring Interhigh is coming up, he’s feeling confident about the team’s prospects...and there’s a world of possibility outstretched in front of him, his if he would only reach for it.

Here, surrounded by those he loves, Nishinoya can recline in his seat and simply appreciate the moment for what it is. There is no unignorable itch, no need to change anything. 

After all, he has all the time in the world.

**Author's Note:**

> Title is from Broken Social Scene's _Anthem for a Seventeen Year Old Girl_. Please leave a kudos or a comment (especially the latter!) if you enjoyed; most of this was written at 2 AM, and all of it while I was severely sleep-deprived. Thank you for reading!


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